


eighty-eight

by blindbatalex



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Boston Bruins, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, No Angst, Toronto Maple Leafs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 11:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19887091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindbatalex/pseuds/blindbatalex
Summary: Standing just outside the door, Will looked terrified. His face was white as a sheet of paper, his jaw was clenched, and when he attempted to smile it faltered and died a painful death as a grimace.David plays his first game with the Bruins and Will pays him a visit.  These events may or may not be connected.





	eighty-eight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ph_1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ph_1/gifts).



> bit of nynak silliness for you while i write angst tm <3

Most of the weeks in life were quite boring. That’s how life was. When you were a hockey player, there were fewer boring weeks. But even so, David was wholly unprepared for the beast the week of November 24, 2014 would turn out to be, although only two discrete events took place.

First, on Wednesday, David made his NHL debut with the Boston Bruins, and then on Friday Will showed up at his door.1

(1 It is important to note that to David these two events were unconnected.)

Even though his time on the ice was limited and he only managed three shots, there weren’t enough positive adjectives in English language to describe the first event. This was the moment David dreamt of since he was a kid and it was heart-pounding, awe-inspiring, euphoric-beyond-belief to take on the TD Garden ice, during regular season, and with a Bruins jersey on his back and thousands of fans cheering him on. 

When Cassidy, his coach in Providence, called him in and said ‘so you need a jersey number if you will play for the Bruins’ he had nearly fainted from excitement, and grinned so hard and so wide he thought his mouth might tear. 

Cassidy asked if he had a preference when it came to numbers. David shook his head. He would gladly wear 666 if it meant he got to play with the first team.

Then two days later his doorbell rang at 6.47pm and when David went to open the door, he found Will standing on the other side. It was always and without fail a delight to see his best friend, especially when it was unexpected. They didn’t nearly hang out or talk enough ever since they came to North America—didn’t have the time—and David missed Will’s company dearly. Sometimes, on the ice when he scored and turned around to throw himself into Will’s arms, only to find a stranger there. Sometimes, on the road when he fell asleep and his head hit the glass window instead of the wonderful pillow that was Will’s shoulder and jolted him awake. Sometimes, but very rarely, at night—when he couldn’t fall asleep and there was no one whom he could coax and cajole into holding him until he settled.

Except today what David felt wasn’t delight at all. Because standing just outside the door, Will looked terrified. His face was white as a sheet of paper, his jaw was clenched, and when he attempted to smile it faltered and died a painful death as a grimace. 

David pulled him into his arms on instinct, asked what on earth happened.

Boston was the city supposed to be famous for its mob but Will was the one who looked like he was on the run from at least seven highly-trained and deadly assassins. 

“Ugh did you have to get drafted by the city with the WORST drivers in the entire continent,” Will said, “I want to throw my guts up after the cab ride I had from the airport.”

At this piece of news, David quickly removed himself from the embrace of his bro. 

“Please don't throw up on me.”

Will rolled his eyes and let himself inside. He _almost_ succeeded when he attempted to smile this time.

“Obviously, I will not throw up on you.”

“Hey man, better safe than sorry. Besides, you said you were going to get even for Ibiza.”

Ah, the wonderful island of Ibiza, and the wonderful night David spent throwing up in their shared hotel room, including at one point, on Will’s shoes.

Will stopped halfway through the hallway at that and turned around, an old hurt shining in his pretty eyes, and remarked on just how pretty that pair of shoes David ruined was, for what must be the twentieth time. 

But he didn’t head to the bathroom or throw up on any household surfaces David had thrown up on back in the day. Just took the ginger ale David offered and settled on the couch.

“Can we watch a movie?” he asked, his eyes a little wide.

David wanted to sit next to him and do things like rub Will’s back or massage his shoulders. Just to help him settle.

But those were not things you did with your bros, so he nodded and sat down with respectable amount of cushion space between the two of them instead. And in an act of pure selflessness let Will choose the movie, knowing full well it would be Miracle again. 

Will decided they should watch Miracle, they ordered takeout, and then put on the movie.

*

Normally at most five minutes into any show or film movie, Will would take up half the couch—sling an arm across the back of the couch and cross his legs. 

So it was concerning that this time around he did the exact opposite—slid further and further up until he was perched on the very edge of the cushions, like he might change his mind and take flight at any moment, even though he loved Miracle. (More than he loved David probably.) His foot tapped incessantly on the hardwood floor, his knee bouncing up and down, up and down, like a buoy on a choppy sea. When their takeout arrived he eyed his lo mein as if the noodles might spring to life and strangle him like greasy carbohydrate snakes. 

“Bro,” he said, when Will set aside his food after taking two bites max. Will looked up and regarded him through his eyelashes, blinking his eyes slowly a couple of times—a mighty trick that never failed to distract and confuse David. Someone needed to give Will the ‘with great power comes great responsibility' speech because the bastard knew exactly what kind of power he had over David and never hesitated to use it.

But this was serious so David did some blinking of his own and refocused.

“We will handle it,” he said. “Whatever it is that has you so scared we will deal with it, the two of us, like we always have. Just tell me what’s going on.”

Will looked away and rubbed his hands together.

“It’s nothing.”

David didn’t know what they would do with their careers after retirement but it was clear that acting would play no part in Will’s. Like, not even in an ad for the sake of everyone involved.

“Come on, give me more credit than that. It’s clearly something,” he insisted.

At that Will laughed, high-pitched, and a little deranged.

“I’m not sure you can help, not with this.”

He was looking at David with wide eyes and he was as scared as David had ever seen him be.

“Hey man, you are my bro. My best bro.”

Will sighed and dragged a hand through his face, told David he was making it worse.

“Why?” David asked, at a loss for what to say or to do and genuinely concerned for his friend. Will meant the world to him. There wasn’t anything or anyone he wouldn’t fight if it was hurting Will.

Will took in a deep breath. In lieu of an answer scooted over on the sofa, lightning quick, and when there was no room left between the two of them at all, he put his hand behind David’s head and pressed his lips onto David’s.

*

David stilled for a moment.

Huh. 

Now that was certainly unexpected. But not unpleasant by any means. It was different than kissing a girl but then again David had never kissed a girl who was his best bro before. Will was so familiar and yet so new against his lips, a contradiction in the flesh.

And he pulled back before David could get a full taste of it, or even stop just sitting there unmoving like a dead fish. Will let out a shuddering breath and stared at David, and David realized that _fuck_ , was this what had Will tied up in knots?

As if, what—David would—be mad? For Will wanting to kiss him? 

They were best friends, for God’s sake. _Bros._ Will should give him more credit than that.

Will was looking at him now, still tied up in knots and almost shaking. So David did the only thing he could do and pulled him back in for another kiss.

*

He thought he knew all there was to know about William Nylander. And yet he had failed to account for what it was like to feel Will settle under his touch, as David rubbed his back without breaking the kiss, what it was like to taste the faint hint of lo mein on his lips and to feel his breath against his cheeks. He decided he liked it very much. He decided he was quite dumb – David was quite dumb, this was a fact known to everyone – but not to realize what he had been missing so far, was bad even by his standards.

When they finally drew apart again, panting a little to catch their breaths, and not quite ready to do anything else yet, David looked at his bro who might actually be more than his bro now.

“So are you going to tell me what you were afraid about?”

Will gave him a look, and then threw one of the cushions at him without mercy and called him a bastard. 

*

He had no idea that Will believed he asked for number 88 as an homage to Will. Nor that watching David take the ice with his number on the back, Will had thought, for the first time since they became bros, that maybe his feelings weren’t so one sided after all. That maybe this was David’s way of saying—something—and that he just needed to take the last step for the both of them.

Two years from that day Will would gift him a bracelet that had number 88 in the middle as an anniversary present and David would say, “oh neat! That’s my jersey number,” because it was neat and it was his jersey number, and the truth would be revealed, and Will would throw this same mini-cushion on the couch at his head once again. 

But by that time 88 would become _their_ number either way, David’s and Will’s and shared, regardless of how it first came to David’s possession.

But as I said before, David had no idea about any of that just then, sitting on the couch with too little distance between him and Will to be considered bro-code compliant.

He just knew that (a) telling Will it was too early for pet names was going to make a good reply, (b) that his heart was a little confused as to what just happened and what he wanted, but more importantly (c) that it was singing in his chest, kind of like it wanted to take flight, and everything was as it was meant to be.

**Author's Note:**

> \--We are ignoring the fact that Toronto loaned Nylander to Sweden right after signing him because it would get in the way of this fic  
> \--[This article](https://www.bostonglobe.com/sports/2014/11/25/bruins-david-pastrnak-makes-his-nhl-debut/ZEYjAyYr29exlln5qaevTK/story.html) from Pasta's debut is everything
> 
> I thrive on comments--if you liked this bit of silly fluff please drop me a line below! I am also on tumblr @blindbatalex if you want to come and say hi.


End file.
